Finally, he's looking directly at me, professional interest overriding whatever game he's playing by ignoring me. I seize the opportunity, leaning forward, meeting his gaze head-on.
"I've been researching a connection between her symptoms and a rare form of vasculitis that primarily affects the hepaticblood vessels," I say, my voice a lot steadier than I feel. "I'd like to run more targeted tests."
Sebastian holds my gaze for one beat, two, three—long enough that I feel the temperature in the room rise by several degrees. "Approved. Work with Kim on this."
Just like that, his eyes slide away again, and I'm left feeling like I've been doused in cold water. My frustration builds with each passing minute of the meeting, my pen tapping faster against my notepad until Naima shoots me an irritated glance.
The meeting finally wraps up with Sebastian distributing assignments for the day. His voice never wavers, his posture never slips. If I didn't have the evidence of his passion mapped across my skin in fading bruises and the memory of his taste still on my tongue, I might believe I imagined the entire weekend.
"That's all for now. We'll reconvene after rounds," he concludes, gathering his papers with efficient movements.
As we leave, I follow three steps behind Sebastian, the other fellows falling into formation around us like planets orbiting a particularly uptight sun.
Our first patient is a fifty-seven-year-old with unexplained weight loss and persistent night sweats. Sebastian stands at the foot of the bed, fingers resting lightly on the rail as he informs the patient that the treatment started yesterday will help with the symptoms while we narrow down the diagnosis.
As he’s speaking I notice something off on the patient chart. Challenging anyone in front of patients is not in good taste but I can’t keep quiet either. When I bring up potential issues with the patient’s biopsy, Sebastian shoots me a look that would have most people running scared.
But thankfully he doesn’t just shoot down my idea. Though I can tell, he’s not happy with me.
And of course the next few patient visits go the same. All of my concerns are valid, I just didn’t have to raise them so publicly.There’s just this part of me that wants to work him up enough to finally see what he meant when he said disobeying would have consequences.
Our final stop is Cheryl's room. I feel a pang as we enter, she looks worse than when I saw her last. But her eyes still light up when she sees us, especially when they land on Sebastian.
"Well, well, the whole parade today," she says, her voice weaker than I remember but still carrying that sharp edge of humor. "Lucky me."
"Ms. DuBois," Sebastian says, his voice softening almost imperceptibly. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been hit by a bus, then backed over for good measure," she replies with a frail wave of her hand. "But that's not nearly as interesting as why your pretty bird looks ready to peck your eyes out today."
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling at her directness. Sebastian's back stiffens, and I swear I can see the tips of his ears redden.
"We're exploring some new avenues for your treatment," he says, smoothly redirecting the conversation. "Dr. Phillips has been doing research."
Cheryl's knowing eyes find mine. "Has she now? And what does the good doctor think is happening to me?"
Before Sebastian can answer for me, I step forward. "I think we're dealing with a rare form of the original diagnosis. The treatment protocols are different, and if I'm right, we need to adjust your medications immediately."
Sebastian turns to me, brow furrowed. "That's a significant departure from our current approach."
"Yes," I say, meeting his gaze directly. "It is. And I think it's our best chance at getting Ms. DuBois the treatment she actually needs."
The muscle in Sebastian's jaw jumps again, more pronounced than before. We stare at each other for a long moment, the air between us charged with something far more complex than professional disagreement.
"Oh my," Cheryl murmurs, looking delighted despite her weakened state. "This is better than my soaps."
Sebastian breaks our staring contest first, turning back to Cheryl. "We'll discuss the options and return this afternoon with a revised plan."
As we exit Cheryl's room and gather in the hallway, Sebastian's face is a perfect mask of professional detachment. "Dr. Langston, continue working with the Richards case. Dr. El-Sayed, I want you on the immune deficiency workup." He turns to me, finally meeting my eyes directly. "Dr. Phillips, you'll work with Dr. Kim on Ms. DuBois's case. Run whatever tests you need to prove or disprove your theory."
He hands me her file without touching my fingers, but I catch the slight tremor in his hand—another crack in that perfect control. "Have the results on my desk by end of day."
With that, he turns and walks away. The other fellows disperse, leaving Jonah shifting nervously beside me.
"Uh, should we get started?" he asks, glancing between me and Sebastian's retreating back. "I've never seen you challenge him like that. Is everything okay?"
I watch Sebastian disappear around the corner, the tight set of his shoulders promising consequences I'm suddenly eager to face.
"Everything's perfect, Jonah," I say, a smile playing at the corners of my mouth. "Let's go run those tests."
